


Remnants

by ForsakenMae16



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF, Bad Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, Especially Tim, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, I love throwing OCs into the mix, Jealousy, Kinda?, M/M, Maybe OOC, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Jason Todd, Romance, Secrets, Slow Build, Swearing, Timeline What Timeline, Two years and I still can't tag, it's an AU so, medium!Tim, mediumship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForsakenMae16/pseuds/ForsakenMae16
Summary: AU in which Tim can see things others can't.As he got older, it became less and less, to the point where he thought his "ability" had disappeared completely, until one day it comes back full force and Tim is forced to come clean to his family about it, which ends up putting more strain on their already delicate relationship.And then there's Jason who'd never really been about delicate.





	1. A Familiar Face

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Jaytim fanfic and also first Batman-related fanfic altogether.  
> I'm absolutely not sure about anything here, really, but I'll try my best.  
> This first chapter just kind of happened, but I really like it, so I thought I'd get my shit together and actually post it, rather than letting it sit forever in my drafts.  
> I'm sorry for any spelling errors or the likes.  
> Thank you for every single hit and kudos and especially comment! I appreciate it <3

Tim had been but a young child, a tiny little thing, with chubby cheeks that bloomed cherry-red at the smallest amount of affection and attention, when he saw the first one.

The first ghost. Spirit. A revenant. Spectre. Whatever you wanted to call them. The dictionaries had fed Tim many words for what he was seeing.

His younger self had been naive enough to tell his mother about it later on. About the woman that was never noticed by anyone, always trying to get them to see her. The woman had then realized he could see her when she caught him staring. She was nice. In fact, she was the first ghost that talked to him. She was beautiful and young. Too young to have died. Not much older than his own mother.

It was weird. Some ghosts looked utterly horrifying. Torn, bloody clothes, wounds all over their skin, or worse. One ghost, he remembered in vivid detail. He had aimlessly wandered through a creepy alleyway that Tim and his parents walked by one evening, in late December. One of his eyes was missing and he was so thin and so frail, barely older than forty, maybe. 

How he died, Tim didn't want to know. Mother often told him about the bad people in this city. Father did, too. What terrible things they did and that only people who did said bad things suffer because of it.  _ **'Bad things only happen to bad people, Timothy'**_

Tim didn't believe that, not even as a young child. Maybe it was his intelligence that he was so often praised for, or maybe just the fact that he just knew  **differently** , that he'd seen things that proved that statement to be false. 

But this woman looked nothing like that. Not a single injury, no blood, nothing. In fact, she looked eerily familiar, yet Tim's tired brain failed to catch up properly at the moment since he'd just woken up to see a ghost in his  **own**  room. 

Her smile made Tim's insides feel all fuzzy, as did the warmth in her green eyes as she beckoned him to come closer. Not once before had a ghost followed him into his house.

"Don't be afraid." her voice made the boy jump which caused her to smother a grin. "I won't hurt you. I am just here because I'm running out of time, and I think you're the only one who can help me with this."

"B-but I-. How am I supposed to help you, ma'am?"

The way he addressed her made her laugh. It was gentle, almost sounding like the faraway Christmas bells he loved listening to in the evenings. "You can call me Mary, sweetheart." 

Tim's cheeks flushed brightly at the nickname and he allowed himself to relax and ease himself back on his bed, kicking his legs a little to get rid of the remaining tenseness of his body. 

The woman-  **Mary** , continued. "I don't have much time left, sweetheart. I know I'm not supposed to be here anymore. But I need to make sure it's alright for me to leave." her smile dimmed and she gingerly sat down on his bed, how that worked Tim didn't want to try and figure out right now, and brushed some of her dark hair behind her ear in a way that poked and tugged at Tim's brain because her face seemed so familiar and-

"You're Mrs. Grayson, from the-"

"Circus. Yes. I'm surprised you remember."

"But- You- that was months ago! I- how?" his voice became smaller as he tried to take in the fact that someone he'd seen dying, seen the death of, was here, in his house, his room, sitting on his bed and asking for his help.

"It's been that long?" a frown worked its way onto her face and Tim felt bad for telling her. 

"I'm sorry." Tears gathered in his eyes as he recalled that night, the one that was supposed to be happy, and it was, if only at the start. He thought of the screams, the blood, about the young Dick Grayson crying over his parent's bodies and-

"Don't cry, silly. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything it should be me apologizing. No child should have to see that."

_Dick had to_ , Tim thought bitterly. More proof that what father said was wrong. None of the Graysons were bad people. "But, how can I help you? I'm just a kid."

Mary sighed and it was heavy, like she was hesitant to go on. "I know. And I'm sorry that I have to burden you with this, but- I need to know what happened to my son. I need to make sure it's okay for me to leave, that he's fine and not-" the woman choked on the words and Tim's little heart hurt, his chest feeling heavy.

"You couldn't find him." It wasn't a question but she nodded anyway. "Dick was adopted by Bruce Wayne." Coincidentally they were basically neighbors. Something like that, with more distance. "I didn't meet him or anything, but he seems fine. Happy, even." Well, as happy as a boy who lost his parents could be. "I'm sorry," he said again. Why, he didn't know. There was a lot of reason to be sorry. 

"Thank god. I- I thought-" she stopped, clearing her throat and wiping at a few tears that had dropped. "I know this is a lot to ask for, but can you keep an eye on him?" the request shocked Tim and it must've shown on his face. "Just make sure he's not- not in any danger at home? I doubt anything would happen to him there, but..."

"Okay. I promise," he swore, already debating how and what and where and thinking about all the ways when Mary shocked both him and herself by carefully touching his shoulder. "How are you-?" 

"I don't know, sweetheart. I've never been able to touch anyone, even by accident. It was just a reflex to reach out. But I guess you're just something special, huh?" her soft smile was back and Tim's cheeks were once again crimson. It made her laugh, in a way she hadn't since that day. "Thank you, for this, Timothy."

"You can call me Tim if you want." In his head, he sent out a silent plea that she would because with his parents it was always Timothy and Timothy was everything they wanted him to be and not always what he actually was. "You don't have to thank me, though. I didn't really do anything."

"You did, sweetheart. I know my place isn't here anymore. But I could not leave without making sure Dick is safe and thanks to you, I know that now. Know where he is. So, thank you,  **Tim**."

The emphasis on his preferred version of his name made him grin before it faltered. "You're leaving then?"

"I have to. I'll just make sure to see my son one more time, now that I know where he is. Maybe I'll finally see his father again, wherever I'm headed to after...moving on."

"Are you scared?" Dying and then having to leave for the unknown sounded terrifying to him.

"Not anymore." she got up from her seat next to him, green eyes alight with hope and love and more Tim couldn't identify. "You're a very special boy, Tim. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I'm sure you'll do lots of good in the future with that bright mind of yours." she playfully tapped his head before gently ruffling his messy black hair. "Goodbye, Timmy."

Tim blinked and she was gone with a last smile directed at him. "Bye," he whispered after what felt like an eternity. 

Tim had shared some of this occurrence with his mother after a lot of debate. He definitely regretted doing that.

Some of the dictionaries also told Tim that he might simply be insane. He knew the word well after all father used it a lot when he talked about other people, especially from work. But that would mean Tim was a bad person, and he couldn't be bad just because he saw things others didn't, right?

That's what he told himself throughout his mother's scolding, his father's lecture about not ruining the good family's name and then the regular meetings he had with a "specialist". That didn't help him at all. The man had declared him completely sane. That day, after the doctor had told him he wouldn't come back as it wasn't necessary, father had a long talk with him. Tim had managed to hide his tears well behind his bangs, only speaking up to agree with what his father said. Something along the lines of 'my son will not be one of those crazies'. 

Tim wondered if his father knew about mother's own struggles. She was sad a lot. Sometimes it seemed like she wasn't there with them at all. Her body was, but her mind wasn't. Mother loved him, that he was sure of. Her hugs were always so warm. Even if they became rarer and rarer over time. Now his parents were gone more and more, leaving him alone in this big, cold house. Mrs. Mac was still there though. Sometimes. Not enough.

Still, he kept seeing the ghosts. He started calling them Fades at one point. Now he learned to ignore most of them, save for the ones that took note of him. Most didn't. 

He tried to pretend he was normal. That he couldn't see these things. Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn't, not in the beginning anyway. Tim didn't want to be crazy. He didn't want to make his father mad, didn't want to disappoint him or make his mother even sadder. 

He had tried explaining it, tried to find actual help, but no one listened. He was alone with his fears and nightmares, kept captive by what others didn't know, didn't see, or simply didn't want to acknowledge. 

Maybe it was no fear, but madness.

And Tim learned over time, if you're crazy, you don't exist anymore.


	2. Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim leans pretending makes things a lot easier.
> 
> Especially when you watch as one Robin leaves and the other dies and you have to make sure that Batman doesn't go off the deep end. 
> 
> Tim knew he wouldn't ever be Robin, not like his predecessors, but he'd damn well try, if only for other people's sake and not his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter also kind of just happened?  
> I really like how this is going so far. There might be a few more typos seeing as I'm posting this from my phone so sorry in advance.

As Tim grew older, he learned to pretend. Pretending almost came naturally to him. He had days where he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin and so, he wore someone else's. He borrowed the best parts from those around him, and carefully crafted a new version of himself.

As such, he also started getting better at acting as if he was normal. What defined as normal was beyond his reach, but most times, normal was living up to his parent's ideals and expectations. With each passing year though, Tim realized there was more to it than that. Still, he now was somewhat capable in sending spirits away, looking away, acting oblivious to their presence unless his attention was specifically demanded by a spirit in dire need.

He was too soft, as father told him a lot. Mother had expressed the same worry. One night, now long ago, when she'd tucked him into his bed, she'd brushed a hand through his messy hair and smiled. "You're too good for this world, Timothy." Back then he hadn't quite understood what she meant, but now he was sure it was a mix of admiration, love even and a warning. To be stronger, not to leave yourself so vulnerable and trusting.

Tim tried. He really did. But some of **them** , he just couldn't ignore. So he helped in subtle ways, did research and discovered things that sometimes weren't things meant to be seen by a child. But he was good at that. Knowing stuff and learning more and more each day. So he did just that.

With his parents barely around, it was easy to sneak out and do whatever needed to be done. There were also his nightly adventures as he followed Batman and Robin. _Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson_. It hadn't been hard to figure out, after seeing **that** move, the puzzles pieces clicking together, one by one until it formed one big, glaringly obvious picture. Tim didn't tell anyone. Wouldn't tell anyone. Especially not after what happened the last time he confided in someone about something so big and important of his life. Fat load of good it did him, the last time.

There were days when the guilt was eating him alive, concerning Dick. He'd promised Mary that he would make sure her son was safe.

_She did say 'at home', didn't she?_

Tim pushed the voice back towards the deepest parts of his mind. He felt bad, but what exactly was he supposed to do? Tell on Bruce and Dick so they get discovered and Gotham loses what looks to be the city's only hope? No. That wasn't an option. Dick was doing really well anyways. He was smart, strong and just **good** , perfect for everything Robin stood for. The Drake boy admired him, practically worshipped the very floor he walked on. Yet not once did he dare reach out to him.

'I met you the night your parents died.' or 'Your mother visited me in ghost form and asked me to look after you' weren't exactly great conversation starters. So he just let it be. It was probably better that way.

He was content with following the dynamic duo around at night, snapping picture after picture and filling entire photo albums. It was better than anything else he could've collected. This was his, and his only. Nothing he had to share, nothing he was going to be judged on since no one knew. Not even the big bad Bat himself, nor his Robin.

As all good things come to an end, so did Dick's time as Robin. It saddened Tim incredibly, but another night in Gotham during the particularly hot and humid late summer, Tim learned that the end of something could mean the birth of something new.

One quote stuck out the most as he was reading through a book.

_"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." - T. S. Eliot_

It reminded Tim of a supernova. A star's life comes to an end, and one last time it glows bright, billion times as bright as before. Maybe even brighter than an entire galaxy. And out of that, new things are born. A neutron star, or perhaps even a black hole.

That was a good way to describe how he felt about Jason. He was lured in, and from then on unable to get out. Not like he wanted to. Where Dick was seemingly flawless, a bright and endless supernova that demanded everyone's attention and fascination, Jason was a black hole, something brash, dark and mysterious to the point where Tim wanted to know more, his curiosity and thirst for knowledge dragging him out to the rooftops at night more often than ever.

Black holes are so dark because they don't let any of the light inside them escape. And while Tim had never spoken to Jason before, he knew there was a lot of light in the new Robin. He saw it when Robin took his time to talk to some kids, gave them candy or even walked them home to make sure they were safe. Behind all the anger and frustration he took out on the thugs and criminals of Gotham, there was a good, genuine person.

It didn't take Tim long to fall for that. Trust him to crush on someone he never talked to. He couldn't help it, no matter how much he tried. Jason was just so...perfectly imperfect. He was a mess, but Tim could relate to that in so many ways. Dick had never given him that feeling since he seemed so utterly perfect all the time.

Tim knew that was bullshit. Dick wasn't perfect, after all, no one was. But Jason was different. He was perfect in spite of all of his faults and flaws, at least to Tim. Now more than anything, he wanted to meet Robin and he actually began hoping for it, unlike before. Optimism wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Still, Tim continued to capture snapshots of Batman and his Robin.

Until Robin was gone. Until Tim found out. Jason Todd had died. His parents expressed the obligatory condolences to Bruce and then already forgot about it a few days after.

Tim wished he could've gone to the funeral. Wished he could've done something to save Jason. Wished he had been more confident to actually get to know Jason. They could have been friends. Maybe. He'd never find out. He didn't deserve to be there, anyways. It wasn't his place to have demands.

Regrets and more guilt plagued him, only getting worse when he saw how it began affecting Batman. Someone needed to do **something**. This couldn't go on. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Batman needed his Robin. Bruce needed Jason.

Tim felt ashamed for thinking that **he** needed Jason, but as it was, he couldn't bring himself to feel all that much.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, staring at the grave and feeling his insides clench painfully, invisible hands tugging at his heart until it felt like it was being torn apart. "You deserved so much better, Jason. You could've done so much more-" he choked on a sob, hastily wiping at his face with the sleeve of his thin hoodie. By now it was almost summer again, and it hurt to remember the past summers. It had only been a year since the last one, yet it felt like an eternity, an entire lifetime ago.

He felt the presence before he saw it and whirled around to see a girl standing near him, only a few paces away. She didn't look much older than Tim, maybe a good four years, if at all. Not even an adult yet. Her hair was brown, a warm color that shone under the sunlight. Her green eyes were twinkling with something akin to mischief. The only thing that told him she wasn't alive was the way her presence felt.

"Hey. I noticed you around. I almost believed you couldn't see me. Good acting skills." her voice was both soft and strong.

"It comes from years of practice," he responded dryly.

That made the girl crack a grin at him. "I like you." she gave him an all-over,  then looking left and right, eyes raking over the empty graveyard. "I'm really sorry to bother, but this kid's ghost isn't hanging around here."

"I know." Tim had pondered what it meant. Why Jason's ghost wasn't present. He'd come to the conclusion he'd simply moved on right away, though that felt wrong. As if Jason would give up that easily. In the beginning, Tim suspected his weakening powers were the source of confusion but now he had another ghost's knowledge and insight.

The more he concentrated, the more it felt like Jason was neither gone nor here. Tim couldn't explain it and that bothered him.

Once more, he felt utterly useless.

"It sucks, huh? Being stuck like this sucks too, but from what I can see you look like shit, sorry to tell ya."

"S'okay" his voice was raspy from misuse and he cleared his throat. "I didn't even really know him. Still, it feels like I've lost someone close, kind of like a best friend." Tim really hoped no one was seeing him "talking to himself." That was **always** awkward.

"It's okay to be sad. I am. A lot. It's lonely."

"I get it." And that he did. Loneliness had long since becoming an unswerving companion of his.

Somehow, they ended up talking to each other the whole day. Her name was Maia. It was easy, talking to her. And he did for many more days and nights before she too moved on. It was a tearful goodbye, but Tim knew that he wasn't enough to keep her here. Maia promised him that he was enough, and he was reminded of what Mary Grayson had told him all those years ago. He actually believed her. Both of them. They had meant what they said.

Now only he needed to believe in it, too.

Tim knew he'd have to, especially with his plans to become the new Robin. He'd struggled with the thought for a long time, weighed out the cons and pros and made up dozens of plans when it came to the approach. Then it was all only a question of gathering up enough courage.

Batman needed a Robin. Dick didn't want to be Robin. That really only left Tim as an option. So he steeled himself for the rigorous training, the endless hours of lost sleep and pain that came with it and pulled through. He wouldn't tarnish the symbol that was Robin, couldn't, didn't want to. He fought tooth and nail to achieve what the Robins before him had.

And as he got dressed for his first real patrol together with Batman, he promised he would do his best to make Jason proud.

He might never be more than a pretender, but he was fine with that. Pretending was how he got through life, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Tim is my favorite and I love him!  
> Also me: *makes Tim suffer*
> 
> It'll all get better, I swear...after it gets worse.
> 
> Who knows, maybe we'll see Maia again sometime ;)


	3. Medium No More?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems as if Tim's powers are gone for good and somehow he feels worse about it than he thought he would.  
> After all they'd been causing problems for years.  
> But then again, you never knew what you had 'till it's gone, right?
> 
> Though a call from a certain someone might reshuffle the pack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I don't even know what to say to be honest.  
> Thank you so, so much for all the hits and kudos and the comments! I appreciate every single one of them.  
> Y'all made me cry happy tears so I hope you're happy.  
> As a reward, have another chapter that's a bit longer and lots of imaginary cookies!

Another few years down the road and Tim's ability seemed to have disappeared completely.

It didn't so much as just stop altogether, but it slowly waned over time, fewer spirits appearing over time. They faded. Ironic when Tim recalled that he used to call them just that. Once he saw them everywhere and now, there hadn't been a single one in over a year.

Tim didn't know what to blame it on. Maybe it had really been nothing but delusions, a way of coping with the loneliness and abandonment he had felt as a child. That one wasn't likely though since he still felt a lot like that. Weird how you can be surrounded by so many people and still feel so alone. It made him pull away, retreating back into his shell that kept him at arm's length, further away from all the hurt and anxiousness and closer to the blissful numbness that he felt at the moment.

The next theory Tim had on his waning ability to see ghosts and communicate with them was all the trauma he'd experienced in the past years. It wasn't easy to admit, not even to himself, but he was messed up. It had taken him a long while to reach this point, being able to admit he was fucked up. Then again, who in his family wasn't? 

His parents died, his friends died, his family died. Steph "died". 

Bruce died, too and as Dick took up the mantle, he also took Robin away from him. Damian tried to kill him more than once. As did Jason, who had come back to life. How fucked up was that? Yet in a way, Tim hadn't been too surprised. There was always something about Jason's death that felt off, specifically the  **staying** dead part. One night, there had been a dream, a nightmare and then almost as if he had been punched awake, nothing.

Another addition to his guilt. Not going out that night, not going to Jason's grave to see he'd dug himself out and wandered helplessly through the city in a comatose state, only to be stolen away by Talia Al Ghul and thrown into a Lazarus Pit.

And now he was the Robin other Robins tried to kill. Another hard pill to swallow, along with the fact that this was the guy he'd spent years admiring and looking up to, trying to become him, trying to make him proud. 

 **Now** , he wasn't even Robin. He did feel comfortable with his new alter-ego, the new costume and name, but that didn't mean it still hurt a fuckton. In a way, this made him understand Jason's actions so much more. Tim had never, not even for a single second considered replacing Jason. How could he? 

But that's how Jason felt. Tim didn't have any say concerning Jason's feelings. The attempts on his life had obviously stopped, especially after B was back, but the scars were still there, one sitting on his throat, a thin, barely-there white line running across it, along with the most prominent one on his chest.  _Batarang to the chest_. He had to admit, it was poetic in a way. 

All of this stacked up to a giant, messy pile of hurt, pain, and anxiety that he kept buried as deep down as he could. Or well, tried to anyway. The many panic attacks and episodes of anxiety that forced him to pull away even more proved that he wasn't as good at compartmentalizing as he liked to make the others believe. Restless nights, tear-stained pillows and broken items were becoming more and more frequent. 

So yeah, not seeing ghosts around every single corner was a relief, although it didn't feel right. He was incredibly grateful he didn't have to see his parents. What they'd think about him living like this, he didn't want to know. If he'd hazard a guess, he'd always go with disappointment, anger, shame...

He didn't dwell on it. Too much. Probably way too much. Maybe not enough. Thinking like that made him feel guilty again. They had been his parents after all, no matter how much they weren't there when he needed them, no matter how often he tried to resent them. He couldn't. 

As it was, there was no definite answer, no explanation for the sudden lack of his mediumship abilities. God, he hated using that word. Medium. It made him feel as if he was a pay phone, an item, just something people could use to get what they want and then leave him to pick up the pieces that chipped off with every use. 

Tim disliked not knowing, but in this case, he'd have to deal. It wasn't like he could ask anyone for advice or guidance.

On one hand, it was great not having to lie to Bruce, Dick or anyone else on the matter. On the other hand, it had been way easier to solve cases back in the day, during his beginnings as Robin when he could just  **ask** the spirits and spin together a plausible and believable story for Bruce as to how he got the information. He had been around thirteen or fourteen at that time. 

Now he was an adult, more of a mess than ever, living in his own apartment away from the rest and one less interesting thing about him. The medium thing was honestly the most intriguing and best he had to offer. 

Everything was in shambles. He'd once been so close to his family, Bruce as his father, Dick as his big brother and Alfred and Babs and Steph and now it was as if he hadn't talked to them in years, as if they didn't know him or he them. They all seemed so close, even Jason was starting to work with the family again and Tim just, vegetated, slowly withered away in this endless hole he'd dug for himself. 

Damian had somehow managed to fit so well into the empty slot Tim left behind unwillingly as if he had never owned it, to begin with. Maybe Tim had really never been anything more than a replacement and placeholder. Because back then, he'd forced his way in. They hadn't actually wanted him there, but because he was needed they just accepted it. 

_Until now._

All these thoughts made him feel worse than ever. Distraction was the only thing that offered relief. It forced his mind to focus on other stuff, like research, cases, patrol, work and generally anything but  **those**. Busying himself with work, both day and night job made him feel wanted, needed and most importantly, alive. 

It played into his hands that they all presumed it was just Tim being his workaholic self, as being driven or just motivated to do good.  _Or finally do better._

As strange as it was, he did miss talking to the ghosts. A lot of them were just as alone, often more than he was, so they always spent their time with him, gathered around him as if he was a beacon of light in the dark. They had paid attention to him when no one else did and now they were gone, too. 

Talking about research, Tim was currently finishing going through all of his old notes that he kept hidden in the box that was locked with more than one mechanism. Codes, fingerprints, and locks. He really didn't want any of his nosy family members finding it, so that was a no for saving it on one of his computers or anything tech-related. Curse Barbara and her superior decoding and hacking skills. Or really, just superior skills altogether. 

The box was hidden behind half a dozen of others, a completely inconspicuous little thing, a bit bigger than a common shoe box. He had another one like this for his photographs, just a lot bigger. Maybe not entirely concealed, since they were bright silver, but hiding in plain sight was always something that Tim like to do. 

One the diary's last page, July 19th was written down multiple times in different colors and shapes, some circled, others not. His birthday, and ironically also the day his powers began fading. Like someone snapped their finger and decided sixteen was the age limit when it came to being a medium. 

The longer he read through each entry, read about each ghost he lent a hand to and what the case entailed, the worse his headache got. Similar to a sensory overload, it began one by one, until it became near unbearable. His eyes filled with tears as he flipped back to the middle of the book, going over his favorite entry, one that wasn't made by him. 

**_Hey there, Tim-Tim! Look at this shit, isn't it crazy? I managed to pick up the pen and I'm actually writing something. Admittedly, each word takes like a minute and it's a serious pain in the ass, but that's totally worth it. Neat trick you taught me. It's weird, watching you sleep while I am doodling in your diary, but you said it's okay so...Anywho, we both know I'm not gonna stick around much longer and part of me is so happy, but I feel bad for leaving you like this, so I thought, why not leave something that'll last? I don't think I can hold the damn pen for much longer, so I'll just say it:_ **

**_Thank you for everything you've done for me. Thank you for seeing me, for finding my ma and making sure to bring Rico back home. That dog has always been a little shit. Goes he got that from his owner aka me. Dying was terrible, not gonna lie, don't wanna do that ever again, but I'm glad I got to meet you, even like this. We would've been best friends if our lives hadn't sucked so much, I'm sure of it. Thank you isn't enough, really._ **

**_And pardon my french, but fuck your parents and everybody else that doesn't appreciate you. You are quite the person. Like, you're tiny as shit but so amazing?? Ur a precious, special smol. So stop being so hard on yourself, okay? I don't want to see you on the other side, ANYTIME SOON YOU HEAR THAT?_ **

**_You know, I always wanted a little brother and these past weeks, ~~it felt like~~ I had one. Wish I still belonged here so I could actually be there and help you with all this shit, but my place is over there. Wherever that is. Thank you, again fo- dang my hand slipped! Sorry..._ **

**_I will miss you, Timmy. Don't miss me too much, heh._ **

**_Love you, Maia <3 No homo though, bro ;) _ **

A shaky laugh left his lips as the tears dropped and Tim closed the diary, clutching it to his chest to let himself drop into a lying position, pressing his face into the soft blankets to stifle the incoming sobs that tried to escape his mouth. 

He couldn't keep up with the not missing Maia part. Because he really missed her, even now, so many years having passed since then. He always let himself get attached way too strong if he dared. And that never ended well for him. The situation with Jason was proof enough, same with the rest of the family. Was he too invested in them? Did they ever feel that way about him?

It appeared that Dick did, at least a while back. Tim knew Alfred cared and not just because he was obliged to. They all really didn't deserve Alfred. Without him, they would all most likely be six feet under already, or worse. That man was certainly one hell of a butler and more. Tim didn't want to think about what feelings Bruce held for him nowadays. Damian hadn't tried to kill him anymore so that was something akin to a win? 

And Jason hadn't either, actually spent some time with him without having to a few weeks back and they had a normal conversation, albeit filled with awkward silences. 

He knew he acknowledged all of them as his family, in the most different ways, as something like a grandfather, a father, brothers, sisters and even one of them as none of that and more like a- 

He didn't allow himself to finish that thought as his phone began ringing. He fumbled to wipe the remaining tears from his face and took a few breaths, hoping whoever was calling wouldn't hear that he'd just cried like a little baby. "Hello?" he cursed when his voice came out as more of a croak than anything. 

"What the fuck happened to your voice, pretender?" Jason's voice sounded amused and Tim jolted upright at it. 

The nickname stung weirdly enough. It wasn't as if he hadn't called himself that before, but coming from Jason always made it hurt so much worse. Tim didn't let it deter him as he scooted over the edge of his bed, pulling on some socks as he went. "I was sleeping. What do you want?" he was surprised by how harsh the words came out, but couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it. 

"Someone's pissy." the teasing whistle rang sharply through the line and it made the Drake boy wince. There was a pause that caused Tim to frown but Jason spoke up just as he was about to question the silence. "I need your help for a case."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me in chapter two: maybe we'll see Maia again ;)  
> me in chapter three: my hand just slipped, I swear-  
> Maia: *walks in* WAZZUP HOES I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME!
> 
> By the way, if you have anything you want to see in the story, like ideas or maybe even a character, hit me up with a comment and I'll see if I can include it somehow!


	4. Family Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim messes up and he wants nothing more than to disappear and get a break from everything, so he makes his way to his childhood home for some quietness.  
> What he finds is probably the complete opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *awkwardly shuffles in, tea in hand and covered in cookie crumbs*  
> So yeah, hehe, sorry I took so long for this update. I gotta admit, I haven't been doing well. Had some school troubles (still do tbh) My mental health isn't in the best shape either and there's also the fact I'll be going to London for an internship and I'm bloody terrified. Anyhow, can't promise anything but I'll try to update again before I leave at the end of the month. I hope you had great holidays (whether you celebrated or not) and also a happy new year to y'all!
> 
> Have a longer chapter for getting through the last year and the long wait! I am happy you made it and are here <3  
> I tried to make things a bit more lighthearted for this one!

Tim felt numb as he walked towards his old home. It had been years since he stepped a foot into it, or even let himself wander close to the grounds. When they had to move away, closer to the city and into a much smaller apartment, Tim hadn't expected to ever get the manor back. It had never been much of a home anyway. Too big, too empty, hallway after hallway filled with nothing but the shadows and remnants of the life that might have occupied the place once.

As a child, he had always felt like he wasn't alone, like someone was watching his every move. It scared him in the beginning, although that stopped once the actual ghosts started popping up everywhere. Still, he never felt comfortable or save as one should in his own home. It had always been only him and the few people that took care of the house. And eventually, they always left. All that sounded like the perfect recipe for a horror story. So all in all, he hadn't been very sad when they had to move. 

Then Bruce had bought it back for him, a while after his father's death. Why, Tim didn't know. He never asked. The papers were just on his desk one afternoon when he'd returned from school, his name on the contracts and everything. Maybe it had been Bruce's way of at least giving him something from his old life. He'd thanked the man, received a soft grunt, a touch to the shoulder and that had been it. 

Now Tim was more or less limping up the driveway, his whole body aching. Some cracked ribs, a broken wrist, and a dislocated shoulder, plus a bruised ankle and more bruises and scratches littering his body like a messed-up canvas. His busted lip stung a little as he licked his dry lips, struggling to grab the key from his pocket with his left arm in a sling and in the way. It annoyed him to no end how it hindered his movements, but he was lucky enough it hadn't been his right arm. 

His thoughts came to a crashing halt once he was inside, flashing back to how he'd been grabbed by his ankle, distracted by the wound on Jason's shoulder bleeding all over his hands and a bone that was seemingly trying to pierce through the skin of Jason's right leg. One of Ivy's vines had ripped him away from Hood, moving so fast and efficiently that Tim didn't even have a chance to try to move along with it, to somehow use the momentum to perform a flip or twist that would prevent his shoulder being smashed harshly into the wall.

There had been a sickening crunch and that was all Tim heard before a loud, almost blinding ringing sound echoed through his ears. His vision was blurry as he fell to the floor, eyes jumping to the wrists that he'd used in an attempt to soften his landing. It had worked in the way that his face hadn't been smashed against the hard brick wall, but his wrist paid the price, as did his shoulder. 

Thousands of thoughts and questions ran through his mind, flitting away before he had the opportunity to grasp them. Why was Ivy suddenly here? Had she known Red Robin and Red Hood would be here? Was it all just a coincidence? Why didn't he react as fast as he usually would have? And why the hell had Jason taken a goddamn bullet into the shoulder for him?

One second everything had been going according to plan, both of them in position, poised to make their move, and the next it all went to hell when Ivy crashed into their little, simple recon mission.

A moment before Tim had lost consciousness, he heard his name being called, followed by the familiar sound of flapping capes and loud rumbling. 

The second he woke up, he just wanted to fall back under. Everything hurt. Even trying to move the fingers of his left hand sent shocks running up his arm and crawling all the way down his spine. His eyes felt heavy, yet he had opened them either way, finding himself in a bed at the Cave's infirmary. The pounding headache told him that there'd been at least a concussion. The pain increased as his brain worked to put all the pieces into place, taking mere seconds to realign everything to form the grand picture. And soon enough, he'd heard steps approaching his location.

Coming back to the real world, Tim shook his head as he unlocked the door and closed it behind himself, happy to be inside and hidden from the brisk winds.

That whole mission was the reason why he was here now. He didn't want to be at the Manor, where Dick and Alfred were hovering over him, asking him if he needed this or that. He didn't deserve it. So he told them he'd go home. That they should rather check in on Jason who'd insisted on leaving on the third day when Tim had still been out of it. 

His apartment didn't feel right either. He had tried getting some actual rest for a few days now, always waking up to nightmares and the pain in his arms.  

The other reason was the fact that he simply didn't want to face Bruce. The man had looked so disappointed with him. It had cut right through Tim, had stung and hurt so much worse than any of his injuries, the way he didn't even try to wrap up the fact that Tim had messed up, to the point where both he and Jason had been injured so bad neither of them could patrol for the next week. The Drake boy tried not to linger on the words that had been exchanged for now, but he knew better than to hope they'd just disappear one day. 

And Jason, he was probably beyond furious at Tim. After all, he was the reason that Jason wouldn't be able to get out and let his fury loose on the scum of this city. He knew how much Hood hated being hindered like this and that Jason would most likely get back out on the streets way too soon. 

So here he was, hiding away at the only place that came to his mind. None of his other safehouses felt like a viable option, so his childhood home it was. It was obvious no one had been here in years. Dust everywhere, the little furniture that had remained here covered with sheets and the hallways just as dark and ominous as they had always been. 

For the next half an hour, Tim found himself exploring the old manor, turning on the lights as he went, occasionally jumping slightly when yet another light bulb exploded. All the shelves, cupboards and trunks were empty, everything personal missing. Not that there had been much, to begin with. 

The last room was his mother's old room. The one she used to lock herself in when she needed "mum-time", as she'd called it. The old, velvet couch was still in the middle of the room, arranged around a table and a few armchairs in the same deep purple color. The walls were a creme color, with lilacs painted onto them, flowers Tim knew his mother had loved. There was a fireplace, some half-empty bookshelves and heavy curtains that covered the big windows. 

At the end of the room, a huge wardrobe stood against the far wall, towering over Tim in a way that could only be described as ominous, somehow. That was new. He'd never felt threatened by a closet before. He moved towards it and curious to see what's inside, opened it. He was definitely surprised to see all the clothes still hanging in it. Most were dresses that his mother wore and some things he had never seen before. Why would his father have left them here?

With a furrowed brow, Tim's hand began rifling through the dresses that were made of many different fabrics and came in varying patterns and colors. Once all of them were pushed to one side, his confusion only grew when he heard a quiet breeze before it brushed over his arm, wrapping around it as it neared the back of the wardrobe. 

Before he knew it, he was falling. The sensation didn't last long as he made contact with the hard and uncomfortable...stairs? He struggled to climb to his feet, gasping loudly at the pain that radiated from his ribs and arm, cradling it close to his figure. It took longer than he would have liked for his senses to come back to him properly. 

Tim's eyes were wide with shock as he took in the ginormous cave-like system that was hidden under the mansion. His old home. The place where he'd spent most of his childhood, had spent a lot of time wandering the lonely, lifeless hallways until the walls had started to feel as though they were trying to cage him in and slowly smother him, despite the sheer size of it. 

And now, after so many years of not stepping a foot onto the grounds, since Bruce bought it back for him, really, he discovers that there is a freaking cave right under it, filled to the brim with crates and hoards of cardboard boxes. It almost looked like a big warehouse, though Tim quickly ascertained it was a lot more than that when he stumbled upon the things that were in said crates. A lot of it looked ancient and he had worked with enough people who used these kinds of things. 

As he was pondering if he should ask Constantine or Zatanna about it, he heard a loud crash. His head snapped up, staring at the cave's entrance before his eyes flew to the ceiling as it crumbled and two figures fell from the opening with loud shrieks. Tim quickly dove behind some of the many boxes, cursing when he realized there weren't any weapons on his person today. Not that he was of much use either way, with all these injuries. 

* * *

  **3rd Person POV**

Landing in a thud, the girls simultaneously groaned in pain. They leaned on each other as they struggled to stand up, both looking at each other once they let go.   
This cued their argument of "This is your fault" and "How was I supposed to know not the press the shining red button?!"

Cordelia huffed in frustration with her sister and spun around only the freeze. Wilma, being Wilma, didn't notice the change in her sister's stance and continued to complain.

"Why is it always 'Wilma did this, Wilma did that- oof" Cordelia's elbow dug into her side harshly, cutting off her long-winded rant. Her wide eyes focused on something sticking out from behind a bunch of boxes. Instantly, Wilma's playful air stilled and her walls rose quicker than she thought possible. Her right fist clenching tight as she made her way to stand beside Cordelia. She knew deep down that there shouldn't be anyone in there. In fact, it seemed the house was abandoned years ago.

It was only a tiny slip up on his side, that caused him to nearly trip over a weird-looking pot and reveal his presence to the two intruders. Two girls, about his age, maybe a bit older. Tim blamed it on the fatigue and maybe the fact that he couldn't bring himself to give a damn after everything that happened in the last week. Him slipping up and messing shit up wasn't anything new, as Damian had put it so nicely.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked, walking out from his not-so-well-picked hiding place. His blue eyes were steely as he took in the appearance of the two girls, both dressed in normal civilian clothes and from the looks of it, no hidden weapons on their forms. 

"I could ask you the same? No one is supposed to know about this place. No one is supposed to be here at all."

Tim refused the urge to snort. "I own this mansion.  **You** are trespassing. Why shouldn't I just call the police?" Tim knew he wouldn't do that, but there was no harm in making them squirm a little. 

The younger of the two looking a little unnerved by that, but didn't show much more of a reaction, as did her sister. "Look, we're not here to cause trouble. We just wanted to come here and see the place our aunt lived in, that's all."

Cordelia eyed the boy, taking in his features, the soft-looking hair, the light blue eyes, and his pale complexion. "Are you Timothy?"

Tim tensed, eyes narrowing. "...Yes," he answered after a few seconds passed, not letting his guard down as he walked closer. "But again, who are you?"

"I'm Cordelia Lovelace, and that's my sister Wilma. Looks like we're your cousins."  

The Drake boy stilled at that. Lovelace had indeed been his mother's maiden name. He never knew much about her side of the family, other than the fact that she didn't want anything to do with them. Every time he had asked, he'd been waved off, or she tried to switch topics, so at one point he just stopped. It hadn't mattered until years later, after his mother's death, when he went through records and databases, looking for any other relatives. 

He couldn't find much, save for the few relatives living somewhere in New York. That had been weird, too. But once again, there had been a lot of way more important things to deal with, so it had been pushed aside. Something he regretted now as he tried to take in the fact that these girls were claiming to be his cousins. 

Out of nowhere, a smile lit up Wilma's place as she walked closer to Timothy. Her cold exterior melting in an instant though she didn't worry much, she believed she was a brilliant judge of character and to her, Timothy wouldn't harm them. At least not at that moment. She put her hand out to shake, "Lovely meeting you." Wilma was faintly aware of both her sister's hesitance and their cousin's but wasn't affected by it, leaving her hand out as she stared him dead in the eye.

It was confusing for Tim to, first of all, stumble upon a secret lair that always sat under his childhood home, then to see two girls fall in after him and finally discovering that they might be his cousins. It was even stranger when the shorter of the two nearly became another person entirely, greeting him with a warmth he couldn't say he felt before. As much as he felt it emitting from the brunette standing in front of him, he didn't dare lower his guard. He reluctantly placed his hand in Wilma's, keeping the handshake firm as to not give away his character.

It was slightly strange staring into her eyes, the green and blue swirled with faint violet flecks. You couldn't tell unless you stood as close as they were, though that wasn't the strangest part of her eyes.  There was an overwhelming amount of care in her eyes yet he could see she was alert in case anything went downhill and he had to respect her for not being entirely naive.

Cordelia stared at the two, shifting from one foot to another as the two had a stare-off. She sighed internally, moving forward to pull Wilma away a little and shake hands with the boy as well. "Well, this is really awkward, to be honest. I never thought I'd meet you. 'Specially not after crashing through a floor. Sorry about that by the way." she pointed at the hole and threw another look at her younger sister who smiled guiltily. 

"I'd say it's okay but I have no idea how the hell I'm gonna get that fixed without someone seeing all of this stuff." Tim was already considering just leaving it like that, in all honesty. Better than having to explain a cave hidden under a mansion that's filled with ancient relics. Maybe people would assume he's Batman. He shuddered at that. No way in hell. 

"Yeah, I get what you mean. We can help with that." The brunette looked around, eyes filled with wonder and curiosity and none of the confusion Tim had felt as he found this. It seemed as if the sisters knew what this was, or were at least familiar with it.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, swallowing his pride and admitting to himself that right now there wasn't a way to get to know more about this. Who had even known about this place? His father? Other relatives? Ancestors?

"Oh. You don't know?" Wilma seemed genuinely surprised at that while a look of sad realization passed over Cordelia's features. "Aunt Janet really didn't tell you anything about the family, did she?"

Tim's eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head slightly. "I suppose not." His quiet response triggered something in both girls. 

"It's time for a history lesson." Grinned Wilma as she waltzed over to the large staircase that led to the entrance.

Cordelia released a soft sigh as she followed her sister, sensing Tim doing the same.

Cordelia and Tim stared at each other as they sat across from each other, both minds going 100 miles an hour. They were only cut off when Wilma sat two cups of tea in front of them. 

"Did you seriously pack your tea, Wilma?" Cordelia rolled her eyes at a sheepish Wilma. 

"Drink, it'll calm us all a bit" whispered Wilma at Tim, watching him carefully smell his tea before taking a sip after seeing Cordelia and Wilma drink from theirs. He internally sighed in relief as his insides warmed up and his mind cleared. His eyes trained in on a large, black Dane laying beside Wilma's seat. It met his eyes forcing Tim to swiftly return his gaze to the two girls. 

Cordelia pursed her lips in an attempt to hold in a giggle while Wilma had no shame in grinning right at him. 

"What is it?" He grumbled, warming his hands on the steaming cup.

"Atlas is really not as scary as he may look." Chuckled Wilma, leaning down to scratch the dog behind the ear. 

Tim's mouth quirked, a small smile sitting on his face before disappearing entirely. "I would like to know what you meant by history lesson."

Wilma glanced at Cordelia, the latter nodding slightly. "The history of our family."

The air changed, too small of a change to really be noticed by one of the inhabitants of the room. Cordelia and Wilma could sense the spirits were listening.

"Have you ever seen something no one else could see?" Asked Cordelia. "Or perhaps someone?" continued Wilma.

Tim was hesitant to respond. He had kept it a secret for so long but it was clear both girls already knew or had an idea.  _Fuck it._ Tim thought, deciding there'd be no harm in telling them. He'd checked their info and everything official he could get his hands on for now with this phone when they'd walked upstairs and it confirmed what they said about being his cousins was, in fact, the truth. He would, however, make sure to ask about the many weird accidents and deaths that surrounded the family name. 

So after fumbling around the words trying to leave his mouth, he just blurted out a "Yes." and with that, it was as if the words just kept on coming, like a running faucet that was threatening to overflow. He told them about the first ghost he saw as a kid, about Mrs. Grayson and all the ones in between or after. Just not Maia. He wanted to keep her to himself for now. And then there was the problem about not being able to see any in the past year.

"What do you mean, you stopped seeing them? Like, just gone? Not even a single one?"

"I don't whether to feel bad or congratulate you," Wilma admitted, sharing a confused glance with her sister.

Tim shrugged, giving them a sarcastic smile. "Same here to be honest. But it's the truth. Not a single ghost. Nothing."

"Sorry to tell you, but that probably means bad news. Because this thing- this ability, doesn't just disappear."

Wilma sighed as she stared at the lost look on Tim's face. "Many hundred years ago, the Lovelace coven was one of the few who truly practiced witchcraft. It was common for pretenders to arise to make quick livre, it was rare to find true magic."

"Our family, though, was quite different. They practiced ritualistic magic." came Cordelia's input.

"Yes, however, it all changed come 1622 when they started to burn innocent people. Not even pretenders." Wilma frowned, tapping her fingers on the wooden table. "It was truly horrifying but while some of us started taking to hiding, others continued to practice with no fear. You have to understand, the ones who stayed weren't many and eventually died off."

Cordelia patted her sister's fidgeting hand, taking to continuing instead. "As fewer and fewer people practiced the craft, it started to die out and eventually for a few generations, there was no trace of magic. The ancestors got restless and angry, so they ignited the dying core of magic that sits in all of us."

Tim stared in shock at the two girls, his mind latching on to every word and storing it. He would never forget this.

"While it worked, it wasn't without a consequence. Other than the fact that it skips generations, there is a side-effect to having it. Either a physical or mental defect." Cordelia stared at her, now, cold cup of tea. "Many were born limbless, or with paralyzed limbs. Some went completely insane, others developed terrible depression."

"I was born with tritanopia." Spoke Wilma, smiling hesitantly at Tim. He could see the sadness in her eyes for the first time. "And I have been struggling with depression for years now. It didn't help that our ma-." Cordelia stopped herself from going on, though Tim didn't need to hear more. 

"So- So what you're saying is that I have magic?" Tim furrowed his eyebrows. "This whole seeing ghosts thing, being a medium?"

"Well,- Yes. In a way. It's different for each individual, really. Some don't have any abilities, other than the Awareness, some can do various other things." Cordelia responded.

"You won't get a wand or a broom, though. I learned that the hard way." sniffed Wilma.

"Oh, when will you get over that?"

"Never." Wilma narrowed her eyes, glaring at the table.   
  
"I should have never let you borrow my Harry Potter books."

The two of them began bickering and all Tim could do was watch them, letting all the information he'd just gotten sink in. He leaned back into the soft cushions, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, wincing when the action caused it to split back open once more, just as it had in the past weeks, many times. He knew all this, it was just scratching the surface. There were still so many questions unanswered, so many new questions and all of it was just too much. 

He barely registered when his eyes closed on their own accord, and he was plunged into darkness with a last thought.

_Damn all these family secrets._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilma: sorry about the hole in your ceiling, have some tea as an apology *pulls tea out from...somewhere?*  
> Tim:  
> Tim: *drinks tea as he stares at the hole that represents the abyss that his life has become*  
> Cordelia: what?  
> Tim: oops, did I say that out loud? Don't mind me *waves hand and passes out because he's shit at taking care of himself*


	5. Spilled tea, Lanterns and Sulking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim learns that Wilma makes a fantastic tea, side effects aside and 'being woke' gets a new meaning, while Jason is a sulking idiot. Essentially, nothing new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *awkwardly shuffles in, two months late with tea and cookies* Explanation at the end note I guess? Sorry :')  
> I hope you'll like this chapter and my OCs that I already love to write. There'll definitely be more Jaytim to look forward to, I really just want to establish the characters more, along with the whole medium thing. Thank you for all the lovely comments. I can't begin to say how happy and excited I get every time I read them!
> 
> I'd also like to thank my best friend for helping me with the OCs and always being an inspiration. Without your encouraging words and the hours you spent throwing around ideas with me and just being there for me in general, I probably wouldn't have started writing again.

 

When Tim came back to his senses, everything was fuzzy and he felt- "Why do I feel like I'm high?"

"Oh my sweet summer child, this is nothing yet." Wilma's voice was soft and teasing which made him burrow his face deeper into the couch and the blanket.

One of the girls must've draped that over him. "I swear, if you put something in my tea and are planning to kill me, I will-" Tim paused, licking his lips and sighing as another pleasant wave of warmth rolled over him. "Y'know what? This is actually really nice, nicer than I've felt in months, so you may commence and kill the fuck out of me."

A snort to his left announced Cordelia's presence. Wow, his senses were way off because whatever he'd consumed with that tea. "Tim, no one's gonna kill you."

"Damn it."

"Sorry to disappoint. But this is more an accident than anything, really. Wilma forgot you're not used to all the herbs we use for our tea mix and I didn't pay attention to the fact that you were downing it like that, so sorry." Cordelia's voice became sheepish towards the end and Tim's head cleared up a but during the explanation.

"So what, you two like getting high with your witch brew on a daily basis?"

"The effects are not that strong once you're used to drinking it regularly and we don't throw it back as you did. It's like coffee, in a way, kinda addicting, might not be the healthiest thing but not dangerous, ya know?"

Tim almost snickered at that. Of all the examples she could've used, of course, it'd been coffee. "You got me there," he admitted softly, blinking his eyes open for the first time. His brain was catching up more and more, so he asked once more, just to make sure. "So, no killing me? One hundred percent sure?" Seeing as he'd actually slept for hours around them and nothing happened, he felt assured, but one could never be too careful. That was the Bat training speaking, definitely. By now it was dark outside and it was raining. Shocker.

 "Yup. No killing. Just the thought of you coming back and haunting us," Cordelia shuddered, shaking her head and plopping down on the armchair opposite of him. "is an absolute no-no."

That made Tim pause. He sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist and looking over at Wilma and back to her sister. _His cousins_. Still a weird thought. "Do you think I would?"

"Something tells me you would," Wilma responded softly, some sort of tranquility lingering behind the statement. "You do know most ghosts stay behind because they feel as if there's something they have to do, a duty to fulfill or like there's something missing, something they need before they can leave, right?" Receiving a nod from him, she continued, now with a slight smile. "You seem like the person who's very...conscious." 

Her choice of word made Tim lift an eyebrow. "Conscious?"

"What I think Wilma is trying to say is that, while we've only known you for about a day, you give off the vibe of a very devoted person. Someone who has the world resting on his shoulders and will still do whatever is asked of him if it's necessary." seeing his face, Cordelia grimaced. "Too much medium and wannabe psychiatrist sneaking into that analysis?" 

"A bit."

Wilma huffed. "Sorry, next time I'll just tell you that you're really woke or something."

Both Tim and Cordelia cringed at that. "That's a definite no."

The small brunette giggled. "Imagine someone going 'Why are you able to see ghosts?' I'll tell them that I am in fact just that."

"Wilma Lovelace, a woke medium, coming from a very woke family."

"Tim, don't encourage her."

"Sorry, won't happen again." Tim's face was blank as Cordelia looked at him, though it didn't take long for his facade to break, his twitching lips giving him away, Cordelia breaking out into a short laugh.

"Liar liar, pants on fire." Wilma jokingly waggled her finger at him, throwing a ball of paper at him.

Tim smirked at the younger, catching the ball and throwing it back, hitting her square in the face and eliciting an offended squawk from her. "Wouldn't be the first time they are."

Both of the girls looked at each other, exchanging a what-the-hell look. "I wanna know the story behind that one."

"Maybe another time." Both Lovelace girls could literally feel the change of mood, raising more confusion. "So, do you think that whatever is going on with me might be potentially dangerous? To others?" 

Cordelia shrugged helplessly, as did her sister. "I have never heard of someone actually losing their Awareness and that's saying something. Our family records go way back, many centuries, all the way back to their times in Europe and even other continents. I'd say I am pretty knowledgable concerning that." 

"Pretty knowledgable, she says. You haven't seen her go through book after book like a woman on a mission during every new case or occurrence." Wilma patted Atlas' head gently when the giant dog came walking back into the room, paws tapping quietly on the wooden floors, the sound having a soothing effect on the inhabitants. "As for your question, only time will tell. Though I am pretty certain that the only one being endangered is you in this situation."

That made Tim let out a relieved sigh. Not a specific or well-defined answer, nothing with a lot of proof back it up, but for now, that was good enough. As long as it wouldn't affect his work with his family, that was fine. Well, as long as Bruce or the others didn't know, that is. "And do you think there's a way to fix me?" Is it really fixing what that would be? Did he even want 'the Awareness' back? Did he really want things to go back to the way they were before? Or would it be worse? He didn't know the answer to those questions, but he knew that if there's even the chance of something happening to anyone near him because of this- "Is there anything I can do?"

Wilma frowned, looking up at her big sister. "Of course there is. Right, Delia?" 

Said girl, sighed, although she did smile through it. "Yes. Lovelaces aren't allowed to abandon hope, after all."

"Abandon hope?" Tim asked, feeling as if there was a bigger story behind that motto. 

"That's pretty much our family's shtick. Hope. Strong emotions in general."

"What, are we all secretly Lanterns now?" Tim couldn't help but let the snarky quip slip from his lips.

"Ugh, I wish, but sadly we don't come with fancy rings or rainbow colors. And a lot of us are lacking on the imagination part, too." Cordelia scowled at Wilma. "I didn't mean you, geez, chill."

"Would you even be able to tell if there were rainbow colors?" Tim froze the moment he stopped talking, slapping a hand over his mouth. _Way to be an insensitive idiot, Drake_. He scolded himself mentally, looking startled when both girls began laughing after a shocked silence. 

"Well, if that wasn't a sick burn, I don't know what is. Want me to get some ice for that, Will?"

"Shut up, asshat." Wilma lightly swatted at her sister's head. "And yes, I would be able to tell, Timothy." the boy cringed at the use of his full name. "Just because I'm shit at seeing yellows and greens doesn't mean I wouldn't know. I do still have a brain, everything aside. But it's okay, don't worry. No hurt feelings."

"You sure about the having a brain part?" Cordelia interrupted before Tim could apologize, making the younger let out something akin to a screech. 

Tim watched as Wilma threw herself at Cordelia, both of them ending up on the floor, wrestling and rolling around, banging into every piece of furniture within reach. Atlas barked at the two, seemingly trying to defuse the situation before giving up with a whine. Giving up also seemed to entail jumping onto the couch next to Tim and making himself comfortable on him, causing the Drake boy to groan at the sudden weight and paws digging uncomfortably into his sides. 

 

* * *

 

"How long do plan on sulking around like a lovesick teenager?"

Jason looked up from his laptop screen, seeing his friend in the doorway of his room, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrow raised. The look almost made him sink further into the mattress. Almost. As if that was possible. "I'm not sulking." was all he had to say to his defense. Really, he wasn't exactly painting a nice picture with the bandages messed up around his shoulder, his leg in a cast from being broken in a really shitty way and all the other injuries. He harbored a wild guess that the mess that his room was didn't help, nor did all of the snacks and the stains on his shirt. "If you have to put it a name on it, I'd use brooding."

"Whatever word you want to use for it, stop doing it." her gaze moved downwards to the floor of his room, or what was visible of it anyways. "Frankly, it's pretty annoying and sad to watch you like this, so get your shit together and talk to your little crush. Apologize. Make out with him. Bang him on a bed of roses, I don't care, just stop this- this thing."

"I- he- That's not-" 

"Nope. Don't want to hear it. Already heard all of it. If you wanna go on that denial trip, take it with someone else. Roy seems to be a good option for that." she sighed, running a hand through her hair just to stop her from gesturing wildly. "I don't like seeing you this frustrated. I've never seen you like this before. Whatever you're feeling guilty for this time, it's not on you, so just get your shit together and fix it." with that she moved out of the room, only to poke her head back in a few seconds later. "By the way, that Nightwing dude, Dick or whatever his name is, popped by last night while I was out, so don't be surprised if he shows up." 

After she was gone, Jason's brain caught up to everything his friend had just said. He pushed his laptop aside, flopped down and groaned into his pillow, wincing when pain shot up his leg from the fast movement. "Fuck all of this."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter and again sorry for taking so long with this update.  
> I'm not gonna say much, other than that my depression has gotten a lot worse and it just hasn't stopped being bad like it usually did, but I'm trying to get better and all of that shit. Everything is pretty much in shambles but I am working on it, so wish me luck? 
> 
> The chapter was a bit shorter but hey, FIRST TIME HEARING FROM JASON SO THAT'S SOMETHING :D
> 
> I really appreciate all of you and this means a lot to me, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support I've gotten so far <3

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *watches documentations* *plays horror game*  
> Me:  
> Me, at midnight: *cracks knuckles* Time to turn Tim into the new Ghost Whisperer.  
> Me: Jennifer Love Who? I only know Timothy Reluctant!Medium Drake.


End file.
